


Wolcom Yule

by die_traumerei



Series: Castle Terra [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Afterglow, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Creative sex, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Disabled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Character, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Story within a Story, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Female Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: In the days leading up to Christmas, Aziraphale and Crowley are pulled in different directions by their duties, hardly able to snatch any time together. They make up for it after the holiday, though, with help from a gift from Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Castle Terra [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759
Comments: 38
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, Christmas fic! I don't know how long this will ultimately be, but...not short, seems to be the answer. I'll update chapters every day or every other day or thereabouts, and tags will update as chapters go up.
> 
> (This takes place six years after Aziraphale moves to Terra.)

Aziraphale bent over the column of names, checking those who hadn't paid their tithes yet, and crosschecking against her list of farmers in arrears. A small note meant she only had to check the ledger tomorrow, and that was easier and faster. More tenants processed, and then she could move onto working through what they _had_ paid with the chancellor before Christmas really hit. A few merchants paid in actual cash, but farming tenants were more likely to pay in chickens, eggs, meat and grain, the things that would keep them fed and help the stores, but which needed to be carefully recorded. Not one goose feather would go amiss under _her_ watch.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped, whacking her leg against the table and biting back a yelp.

“Shit, sorry!”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale looked up from the ledger and rubbed her eyes. “Goodness, what time is it?”

“Nearly midnight, love.” Crowley said, moving to sit on the arm of the chair and putting her arm loose around Aziraphale's shoulders. “Come to bed. You'll be no good if you're exhausted.”

“Spoken as someone who never had to sit exams,” Aziraphale teased. She tilted her head and kissed Crowley's arm. “I'm nearly done, I promise. Just a few more minutes?”

Crowley frowned. “Only a few, and I'll be counting. Go.”

Aziraphale laughed, and bent back over the book, writing neatly and steadily. It wouldn't do to rush and be unable to read her own writing tomorrow, and anyway she really _was_ nearly done, to the point that she was just wiping off her pen when Crowley called time.

Aziraphale kissed her Princess' thigh, blew out her candle, and groaned when she stood up. It did get so cold in the Library, and although she dressed quite warmly, sometimes it did creep into one's bones.

“Honestly, Maestra,” Crowley fussed, giving Aziraphale her arm. “How do any of you survive?”

Aziraphale chuckled softly, leaning on her wife as they moved through the dark room, aiming for her little bedroom. In and of itself it wasn't much warmer, but there were wonderful quilts and soft pillows, and of course she'd have her own lass to keep her warm. “We all have members of the royal family who snap at our heels like the puppies do. I just haven't let you in on the secret yet.”

Crowley smiled, shaking her head, and urged Aziraphale to lean on her more if she needed it. The walk was loosening up her hip, though, and she moved a little more easily as they made it to the bedroom.

“Oh, you dear!” she said, catching sight of the bedwarmer – beloved Crowley, of course she'd give them a nice, warm landing. The lamp was burning low and the whole space was soft red and gold, and very cosy.

They undressed quickly; lingering naked cuddles were for summer, not the depths of midwinter. Aziraphale shed her clothes as quickly as she could, biting back a yelp at the cold air on her bare feet, and quickly wriggled into a voluminous flannel nightgown and then into bed, crawling between the warm covers with a happy sigh.

Crowley always took a few moments longer, having to deal with drawers and a corset and the like, but she was soon in her own nightgown, red flannel to Aziraphale's white. She blew out the lamp and crawled in beside Aziraphale with a giggle, the two of them squishing together in the narrow bed.

“Here, love, this will help,” Crowley said softly, adjusting a bolster so Aziraphale's bad leg was a little more supported, held at an angle that eased the tense muscles. Not much could be done about the old pain in her bones, but this helped. So did warm blankets, and a beloved holding her, and her own plain tiredness.

“That's wonderful,” Aziraphale sighed. “Bless you.”

“Enjoy this,” Crowley said, nuzzling under her chin. “I'm on relatives duty until Christmas.”

Aziraphale grumbled. “Bugger. I've really only got one more long day, and then it's just working out things with the Chancellor.” She turned her head to find Crowley's cheek in the dark, and kissed it. “We'll trade off, I s'pose.”

“If you wanted to go riding that would be okay...” Crowley said hopefully, and giggled when she got swatted. “Can't blame a gal for trying.”

“Yes, I can. _You_ can painfully injure yourself if you're so bloody desperate to get out of it all,” Aziraphale grumbled.

There was a pregnant silence.

“Crowley, that was a _joke_ ,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

“...Of course,” Crowley said, and laughed when Aziraphale gave her a little shove – and then immediately wrapped around her, to keep her from tumbling off of the bed.

They giggled together, and Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale's head, tucking her close a little more comfortably.

“We'll sleep together,” she murmured. “And take breakfast, and we've only got to sit apart at the feast on Christmas Day. Then we'll have ages all to ourselves.”

“Mmhmmm,” Aziraphale said sleepily. “Take a li'l holiday. Cuddle by the fire.”

“Cuddle by the fire,” Crowley agreed, her breathing slowing, matching Aziraphale's as they both tumbled into dreams. Just a few more days, just getting through the holiday, and they'd have whole days together again, a soft little Christmas just for them. She had made sure of it.

So it went – they breakfasted early together, yawning and cuddling by the fire as they ate from the groaning tray Min brought in, knowing that lunch wasn't a sure thing for either woman. A soft kiss, and Crowley went off to properly dress and do the hair and the crown and the fancy gown thing while Aziraphale gathered her books and pens and inks and went down to the great Hall to fulfil her duties. They might run past one another in a corridor or a staircase and pause, and kiss, but duty would quickly call for one or both of them. It was late at night before Crowley could return, and more than once she'd found Aziraphale simply fast asleep in bed, a candle still burning softly but her book closed and set aside, and her silver-gilt head on Crowley's pillow. 

It was so peaceful and sweet and lovely, Crowley almost hated to interrupt the scene by shoving herself under the quilts and passing out, but she did, falling asleep far too fast to enjoy it. They could be snuggly and romantic in a few days.

Christmas Day itself dawned cold and already snowing. They both had the day to themselves, though, so slept in, and woke with a little cuddle. At least until Aziraphale ventured forth to retrieve their coffee and some sweet buns that could be safely eaten in bed. Or fed tenderly to one another in between kisses. Neither of them bothered with going to chapel, so there was nothing at all that required them until the huge dinner that night.

Aziraphale smiled and gave Crowley another little morsel of bun, and kissed her cheek. She'd taken care of her facial hair while Aziraphale was fetching part one of breakfast, so there were kisses aplenty, and snuggling her princess whose feet already ached from nights of dancing. Well, she could watch Aziraphale take to the floor; although not a great talent, she did love to dance, and had truly missed it that first year when she'd had to sit on the side and watch. “Remember our first Christmas together?”

“You say that like I'll ever forget, for all my life,” Crowley said softly, and kissed her neck, right where the collar of her nightgown lay. “And not _just_ because you got me out of Princessing for a week.”

Aziraphale giggled and sipped her coffee, sweetened with egg nog on this special day. “Sure?” She laughed louder, and nibbled at a bun. “I  _am_ glad I'm able to work this year, and to dance and move about easily and all of that.”

“I'm glad you're well too,” Crowley said softly, catching hold of her hand and nuzzling the inside of her wrist. “I'm glad we've have years together, now. I loved you then, of course, but...”

“It's different,” Aziraphale agreed. “Deeper and layered now, mellowed and tender. And I'm so much better. My ankle of course, obviously, but I'm less...afraid. I think I am, anyway.”

“I think you are too,” Crowley agreed. “Really, love, you are. I don't just mean like when we met and you...what _were_ you trying to do? After the kneeling?”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Prostrate myself.”

“You are never, ever, ever going back to Heaven's Court again, for the rest of your life,” Crowley said. “Mother of God.”

Aziraphale kissed her softly, lingering a little, then smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “That about covers it. So yes, I know better than...to behave as I'd been taught. And that it's all right if I'm hurt, or ill.” She smiled wryly. “Or my asshole horse runs off, stranding me in the forest.”

Crowley snickered. Vox was still in their stables, and still a complete dickhead of a gelding known for bucking unexpectedly and trying to scrape riders off with tree branches. Poor Kevin had broken his leg from  _that_ little discovery, and the list of people who refused to, or weren't allowed to ride the beast was steadily growing.

(Aziraphale both refused to set leg astride him ever again, and was in combination forbidden by Chae and Crowley, reckoning that Vox had got a taste of blood, so to speak, and they didn't fancy another panicked search.)

“You don't...sorry, this might sound mean,” Crowley said. “You play with your belt, or your gown, when you're scared. You do that, um, a lot less than when I met you.”

“I never said my tells weren't obvious.” Aziraphale smiled. “I don't...oh, love, I've never told you this. I used to get terrible panic attacks, before I had to see a member of the royal family – at Heaven's Court, I mean. I couldn't breathe, nor stop shaking. It was dreadful, and of course it always made me late which just made their disapproval worse...” She shivered, and went gratefully into her wife's arms to be cuddled and kissed and fed a little more breakfast.

“Angel, I'm so sorry,” Crowley said softly. “I'm so sorry you ever felt that way. I'm glad you don't go through that anymore. But you know if you did, everyone from the King on down would want you to take some time. To rest, to take to your bed, or take a warm bath or _anything_ that might help you feel better.”

Aziraphale smiled, and ate a proffered morsel from Crowley's fingers. “I know.” She snuggled close a moment, feeling wonderfully warm and lazy and unspeakably lucky to have been sent here, to have pulled Crowley out of the rain, and to love her and be loved.

They kissed until coffee and sweet buns were gone, and sat down to a bigger, proper breakfast when that arrived, more hot, strong coffee and eggs and toast and bacon and sausages, a feast to keep a woman going. Even though, admittedly, all they were going to do was get dressed for the day, exchange gifts, and settle in the little reading nook until they had to get ready for dinner. They were also able to corner Min for just a moment, and give her their gifts, separate from those given to all the servants. (Money and time off, which frankly Aziraphale thought was a sight better than their little offerings.) A pair of fine-knitted mitts from Crowley and a pretty amber bead on a ribbon to make a necklace from Aziraphale, and Min cooed over them both and asked Aziraphale to tie the ribbon on and slipped on the mitts immediately. She was far too busy to join them for a cup of coffee, unfortunately, but promised to make it up to them soon.

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said warmly. “We won't keep you a moment longer.”

“And if Auntie Ligur sasses you, let me know,” Crowley said. “I know you can't sass her back, but she's not to treat you that way. _I'll_ holler at her for you, and enjoy every moment. You can even watch.”

Min laughed and promised, and left them to breakfast in the warming room, the fire and thick dressing gowns and good food and coffee setting them both to glowing. The prospect of (nearly) a whole day to themselves, to rest and be easy and do as they liked didn't hurt either.

After Crowley set the tray out, they curled up on the big sofa by the fire together to exchange gifts.

“This is only part of yours,” Crowley warned. “The other bit will start after St. Stephen's day.”

“Ooooh,” Aziraphale said, not a little intrigued. She opened the first of the small gifts, and cooed over the rose quartz earrings. “Oh, Crowley, they're so pretty! I'll wear them tonight, love.” A little kiss, and then it was Crowley's turn.

Her first gift was jewellery too – a fine gold collar worked to resemble the scales of a snake and studded with deep, fiery garnets. Crowley actually gasped aloud when she saw it, and lifted it carefully in both hands. “This is extraordinary. Where on earth did you find it?”

Aziraphale grinned. “When we were in Querca a few months ago. One of those meetings wasn't a meeting – Donald and I ran off to a jewellery shop Idgie had recommended to us. I think I was a bit disappointing – I saw that almost immediately, and nothing else would do. Donald was hoping for a bit of a day out, and we were done in half an hour!”

Crowley laughed, stroking the pretty scales. “It's incredible. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She carefully set the beautiful thing down and gathered Aziraphale in her arms for a long, sweet kiss.

They had other little gifts for each other – some skeins of silk yarn for Crowley, fine enough to knit or weave with as she pleased, and a beautiful leather-bound notebook for Aziraphale. More cuddles and kisses, and Chae came by for just a bit to laugh at them still in their dressing-gowns, and give and get presents himself.

“Lazies,” he teased them.

“Am not,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Last night was my first really good night's sleep in ages, and I'm not writing a bloody thing until the New Year, my hands are that tired.”

Chae laughed at her some more, but also took her hand in his, massaging gently. “Well, I need a little scandal in my life, and having a visit with two undressed ladies will just about manage that.”

Crowley snorted. “We're not back in Annwn, you dork. I'm as good as your sister, which means Aziraphale's your sister-in-law, and therefore we're all perfectly respectable. Or we would be, if anyone could be bothered to care.”

Chae snickered. “I know, that's why it's so fun. Scandal without trouble.” He started to work up Aziraphale's forearm, easing the tight muscles there. “Ready for the hunt, Maestra?”

“Am I ever!” Aziraphale nearly glowed at the prospect of racing around on a horse for a few hours, with a bunch of other people also on horses. Crowley understood a lot about her wife, but appreciated that some things would forever remain a mystery. “Do you have plans for your time off, dear?”

Chae nodded and switched to her other hand, continuing the massage. “I do. Ah. Going to Annwn, actually, to visit my brother.”

“Oh, he lives in – what's the village? Davyth?” Crowley asked, perking up a little.

“That's the one,” Chae said. “Just going to spend a few days with him, catch up on the family.”

“Good,” Crowley said firmly. Just because she didn't want to go back anytime soon – well, it was good that Chae wasn't barred at least. “Give him my love – all of them.”

“Of course,” Chae said. “Do you want me to bring you anything back?”

Crowley shook her head, and cuddled up to Aziraphale's side, curling her fingers around her wife's free hand. “No, dear, there's nothing I want from there. Have a brilliant time, though, and go take a walk in a pine forest for me?”

Chae grinned. “Promise. What are you two up to?”

“It's a surprise,” Aziraphale said. “Apparently I'll find out after the hunt.”

Crowley just smiled beatifically, and changed the subject until Chae had to run off to visit with other friends.

“Better?” he asked, squeezing Aziraphale's hands. He'd kept up the massage, steady and gentle.

“Wonderful,” she said, and smiled suddenly, and threw her arms around him. “I love you. Happy Christmas. You're so _kind_ , Chae.”

“Ahhh, I'm nothing unusual,” he protested. “You just have to get used to people who know how to act.” He hugged her back, though, and kissed her cheek. “I love you too.”

Aziraphale giggled and hugged harder, before releasing him so he could put Crowley in a headlock and mock her about still being undressed and she could moan about what a bully he was and wriggle and 'accidentally' headbutt him, and they could hug for a long time.

They actually did dress after seeing Chae off. Soft, comfortable clothes were perfect for exactly what they did next, which was to hole up in the little reading nook in the back of the library, settling on the wide window-seat with a pillow to ease and warm Aziraphale's leg and plenty of blankets and cuddling while Aziraphale got another part of her Christmas gifts – a new story Crowley had thought up about Eleanor and Yvaine, the heroines of their favourite book series. It was the best Christmas Aziraphale could imagine, she reckoned, lying with her head in her love's lap, watching the snow fall and listening to Crowley tell part one. It was a new kind of story – she had taken the characters they knew, but now Eleanor ran a small cafe and Yvaine sold flowers from a market stall just a few steps away. It was absolutely delightful as Crowley recounted their first meeting, and absolutely horrific as she ended the chapter with the two of them about to kiss, when the dull but well-meaning baker who supplied Eleanor's cafe walked in on them and they had to leap apart and Yvaine ran out before anything else could happen.

“Cruel!” Aziraphale yowled. “Such a cruel woman!”

“You'll get part two tomorrow,” Crowley said smugly.

“I will _die_ without part two right now,” Aziraphale moaned.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Crowley informed her, and burst out laughing when Aziraphale yanked on her braid – enough to pull, but not enough to hurt, of course. She slid down and cuddled her grumpy, pouting maestra, kissing her cheek and neck until she softened, just a little bit.

“They get together in the end, right?”

“Of course,” Crowley assured her. “Sooner than the end, love. They've got lots of adventures to have.”  
“Well, all right,” Aziraphale grumped, and snuggled into Crowley's arms, permitting her to cuddle and coddle her and even feel her up a little, her breasts soft under the loose gown, unheld even by the linen wrapping she sometimes used.

She even drifted off for a tiny nap in Crowley's arms, waking only when lunch arrived, rubbing her eyes and grumbly and so sweetly Crowley's heart ached with it. 

“Easy,” she murmured, stroking Aziraphale's hair. “Take a moment, dove.”

“You take a moment, I'm hungry,” she mumbled, and yawned, and smiled, opening her eyes properly. “Oh, I feel amazing.”

“Good.” Crowley kissed her and helped her up, and oh, even with the snow she was moving more easily. Still limping, but without the little line of pain she got between her eyes, and not needing to lean on Crowley's arm.

The afternoon passed with Aziraphale reading aloud until her voice grew tired, and they made lazy love as the short day drew to a close. Neither of them orgasmed exactly, but they petted and cuddled, moaned a little and kissed a lot. Aziraphale made her way through the maze of Crowley's garments and stroked her cock appreciatively while Crowley caressed her thighs and kissed her breasts through her gown and, likewise, navigated her heavy layers to slip her fingertips against Aziraphale's clit, lazy and loving and just making each other feel good with no destination in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Not so very long after they'd shared a pot of tea and some biscuits, and well after the winter sun had set, they dressed in their finest for the great feast. Aziraphale put on the embroidered gown she wore to most of the castle's most formal affairs, all white and blue and silver, nearly stiff with intricate embroidery and cut to flatter her body. She had to go corseted, but it was worth it – and her new earrings went beautifully, shown off by a simple braided up-do. Crowley had offered to do her hair more intricately, but Aziraphale found she was growing to prefer simpler hairstyles, a long braid or plaits for everyday work and perhaps a coronet, or her hair down and held only by her fillet for fancy occasions. There was a relief to it, she thought; she loved her fancy gowns, but to skip most cosmetics and doing her hair was soothing in ways she hadn't expected.

Crowley wore a new gown of grey silk, embroidered by Aziraphale in gold constellations around the neckline and hem, and she  _did_ do her hair up in intricate curls and braids. Aziraphale carefully pinned her small crown in place, and adding little jewels on hairpins to accent the shining red, still with only a few threads of silver in it. She lazed on Crowley's bed, waiting for her to finish her make-up, and wondered how a person could be so happy and contented as her. The big dinner was another chore for her wife, but for Aziraphale it was her only party of the season, and she loved it.

They went down to the Great Hall together, arm-in-arm, and Aziraphale gasped out loud as they entered the transformed space. It had been decorated somewhat while she worked there, of course, but now with candles blazing and a fire roaring away, greenery filled the room with the sharp smell of pine and snow and it was a space transformed.

Crowley grinned at her, and they hugged, slipping off to a corner to simply hold each other and take in the once-a-year sight, everyone in their finest trickling in and the promise of a good meal, plenty of drink, and celebration to come. Aziraphale leaned her head on Crowley's shoulder a moment and hugged her so tight she squeaked, and wasn't sorry at all. This was  _heaven_ , real, actual heaven!

Crowley walked her to her seat and kissed her, bidding goodbye until after dinner, and went off to be Princess-y. She didn't like to talk about it but – no one had called her Raphael even once the entire season, not since the first cousin arrived. If they could get through tonight, that would be a whole year without that strange, frightening tarnish on it.

She took her seat next to Adam, and couldn't help but look back, to the left, a lower table. Aziraphale shone like a star; she really did with her pale gold hair and her light gown. (Well, colour-wise; the bloody thing weighed about twenty pounds. The corset helped, but Crowley was going to make sure that Aziraphale's body had an easy time of it for the next week. Perhaps wearing  _no_ clothes was medically necessary? She thought that might be so.) She was talking eagerly to the Maester Scholar while Chae filled her wineglass – good man! And she was beautiful, relaxed, happy. Her eyes  _actually_ twinkled.

Before she could thoroughly disgust herself, Crowley distracted herself by talking to Adam to pass the time, and anyway he was a good kid. Just dinner to get through, and she'd be back with Aziraphale and Chae and her other friends. She was still a princess, would still wear the small crown, but she'd be  _her_ again, and was looking forward to it.

Aziraphale  _did_ love Christmas so! Even with the busy rush leading up, even with not seeing her (admittedly grumpy) wife nearly as much as she wanted to, she  _loved_ it. Loved the glitter and gleam and chance to dress up and the food and the way everything smelled of pine and good things. She loved the long, dark nights and the way everyone filled them with light. And, of course, the feast – a chance to relax with so many of her friends in the castle, to giggle and tease and get tipsy and thoroughly enjoy herself over a feast.

And then! Oh, her Crowley, her lovely princess who cut through the crowd, elegant in grey and gold, who found her and swept her up in a hug that wasn't graceful or princess-like at all. Crowley squeezed her tight, and Aziraphale squeezed back, smiling at the way that felt, with both of them in corsets and finery. She would never want to live like this every day, but she loved it for a night now and again.

“Happy Christmas, love,” she said, and kissed her girl. “Come on, Chae's scouting seats for us.”

“Oh, bless him,” Crowley said, and they plunged into the crowd, only stopped a few times for various people to greet one or the other of them, kiss their cheek, promise a dance. (Or both of them, in the case of cousin Anthony, who was unabashedly Aziraphale's favourite of Crowley's vast extended family.)

They finally found Chae, though, in a little corner with plenty of soft chairs and a stash of drinks, which Crowley – who was not as well-watered as the lower tables – audibly blessed him for.

“Good, you drink while I claim the first dance with Aziraphale,” Chae teased. The tables had been cleared away in record time and the floor was being prepared and Aziraphale, who considered herself required to make up for the first year when she couldn't dance at all, was more than ready.

She wasn't ever going to be the most graceful in the hall, even on days when she didn't have a limp, but gosh, it was  _fun_ , and no one much cared how good she was anyway.

It was three more dances after that until she begged off and was reunited with Crowley in their little corner, who was taking a similar break, though after only two dances herself. Crowley was in the middle of teasing Aziraphale for being the most popular partner there, and making her laugh herself to crying, when the queen snuck in to join them, landing with a happy sound and putting an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders.

“Bugger _that_ ,” she said cheerfully. “My girl, you're glowing, do we need to throw you out into the snow?”

Aziraphale giggled again and shook her head. “It's your niece's fault, your Majesty.”

“I haven't even had a dance with you yet!” Crowley yelped.

“Tch,” the queen said, and winked at Crowley, and hugged Azirpahale's shoulders. “My darling, how do you feel about a dance with _me_?”

Aziraphale's eyes widened, and she couldn't hold back a smile. “Your Majesty, of course.” She paused. “Please know that I'll enjoy dancing with you very much, but just for the record, who are we annoying?”

“Oh, good girl,” the Queen praised. “One of my brothers-in-law. He's very old-fashioned, which apparently means no fun whatsoever. He'll disapprove immensely.”

“Because I'm a woman, I have a limp, or I'm not royal?” Aziraphale asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“...Yes?” the Queen offered.

“Oh, is it Robert?” Crowley guessed, and the Queen nodded. “Yeah, definitely all three, love, and probably another ten reasons the two of us can't guess at. D'you want to me stand near him, auntie, see what I can catch him at?”

“If you like,” the Queen said. “He's never very _interesting_ about his disapproval. At least you can give your great-aunt Isobel _that_.”

Crowley sighed with happy memories. “Oh, she can insult with the best of them. Right then. Another one to sit out, and then we cause a delicious scandal?”

“Perfect,” Aziraphale said, sipping champagne with her princess-wife sat across from her and her mother-in-law/Queen practically snuggled up to her side while she rested her feet in their silk dancing-slippers and the music played on. Good Lord, the life she had wound up in!

Aziraphale could lead passably well, and she had a wonderful dance with the Queen of Terra, and even heard a few audible gasps. With the heat in the room, she actually moved more easily, and was proud of herself for managing a very new dance on top of it all.

“My dearest, you dance beautifully,” the Queen told her, and squeezed her hands. “What a lucky thing it was, to wind up with you!”

“The luck is all on my side,” Aziraphale said, around the lump in her throat. She loved it here so, loved the _people_ so. “I speak from experience. All the luck and the joy is with me.”

“Aziraphale.” The Queen smiled and kissed her cheek. “Go dance with Crowley, she needs a reward.”

Aziraphale giggled, and went to seek out her wife, happily swanning past a very red man who she reckoned was the offended brother-in-law.

It was a slow waltz, thank goodness; an excuse to hold each other close, for Aziraphale to take lead and twirl her beautiful wife about the dance floor.

“Any interesting new curses?” she murmured in Crowley's ear, and felt and heard her laugh in response.

“Sadly, no. Just the usual old ones. I love you, angel.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale murmured. “Hold on, darling.” And she did a fancy, complicated twirl in perfect time, ending up back in Crowley's arms, holding her strong, graceful best friend and beloved and making her look even more beautiful.

Crowley smiled at her, close enough so Aziraphale could see her eyes through her dark glasses. “Are you getting tired?”

“Another hour will do me,” Aziraphale promised, and Crowley's arms went a little tighter around her.

“Stay later if you like,” she said. “You deserve a night of celebration.”

“Silly, and you deserve some rest.” Aziraphale smiled at her. “Go up ahead of me. I'm not tired, and my hip doesn't hurt at all. I _would_ like to dance more, if you don't mind?”

“Aziraphale, of course not!” The song was drawing to a close, and Crowley ducked them into a little nook, somehow left free. “Dance your heart out!” She laughed and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “I know I lose you to the hunt tomorrow, but then we have ages to spend together, just us.” She grinned. “Specially when you see your other present.”

“You've given me so much already,” Aziraphale protested. “Crowley, you're going to spoil me. Worse than I'm already spoilt.”

“Oh, good, you figured out my plan,” Crowley said, and kissed her other cheek. “I _adore_ you, dove. It's a present for both of us, in a lot of ways. Now, will you go and dance and eat and drink until you fall over, no matter when I leave?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I promise. Where will we sleep tonight?”

“My rooms?” Crowley requested, and got an easy nod of agreement. “Right, then. Go on, angel. I really will go to bed soon, my feet are killing me.”

“In a moment,” Aziraphale said, drawing Crowley even closer, just holding her and stroking her back. “I just...I love you. I love this kingdom and I love the castle's people and I love you, so much.”

“We all love you back,” Crowley said softly. “Me most of all.” She pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's neck, and they just held each other for a long time, until Aziraphale's eyes weren't quite so shiny and she could kiss Crowley's cheek and draw away.

“Go rest those feet,” she ordered gently. “I'll rub them for you tomorrow. The hunt's only a few hours, really.”

Crowley smiled, and kissed her goodnight. It took a little bit to say goodbye to her friends and her auntie and uncle, but soon she was mounting the icy stairs to her rooms, breathing out in the welcome quiet. She had danced 'til late, laughed a lot, kissed her wife and been kissed, goofed with her friends and egged Adam into eating more sugared almonds than was strictly good for him. It was a delicious Christmas night, and somehow even more delicious, just a bit, that she had a few minutes to herself. To undress and bathe and make herself soft and sweet-smelling before crawling into her bed and drifting off, sure that she'd wake with Aziraphale in her arms.

“We have to wake up in a few hours and go _riding_ ,” Aziraphale hissed, as she and Anthony made their way quietly through the dark corridors. 

“Not that soon,” Anthony whispered back. “I saw the huntsmaster, I think we'll all be allowed a lie-in.”

Aziraphale muffled her giggles with her hand, the other wrapped around Anthony's elbow – not that she needed it, but he did insist on being gallant. He really  _was_ Crowley if she'd been a man, it was remarkable. (Well, and if she'd liked horses.) He insisted on walking her to the door of Crowley's rooms, and she hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“See you in a few hours,” she whispered.

“Not that few,” he whispered back, winked at her, and kissed her brow. “Sleep well, cuz.”

“You too, cousin,” she teased, and slipped through the door, locking it softly behind her. 

Crowley was fast asleep of course – good girl. There was a decent glow from the coals, and Aziraphale undressed quickly, ducking into the bathroom to wipe herself down and clean her face before wriggling into a nightgown, crawling in beside Crowley, and dropping off to sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

The next day was truly the start of the Christmas season for both of them, in that they go to do the things they loved best. All the servants had off, of course, but Crowley was happy to get breakfast from the kitchen for them – and to pitch in with lunch and dinner, for that matter. When she wasn't helping cook, she was lounging about on her sofa, idly daydreaming of new things to weave, new techniques to try – she'd got her silks from Aziraphale, and some lovely soft cotton from her auntie, best think of what she could do with that. Aziraphale often bound her breasts in a strip of linen or cotton when she was going to be very active, or so certain dresses fit better; perhaps something soft and decorative, with just a little stretch, to be worn over her beloved's  _very_ beloved bosom...

Crowley sketched a few ideas lightly, and watched the world outside her window. She had taken care of the last few things necessary for Aziraphale's gift, and her time was her own again. Silly, to miss it after not  _very_ much time spent on her royal duties, but still. It was nice to have this day largely to herself.

Aziraphale returned from the hunt happy and unscathed, to Crowley's quiet relief, and they dined with Anthony and another of Crowley's cousins, the four of them making a merry time of it until Aziraphale couldn't stop her yawns.

“Sleep as late as you like,” Crowley advised when they were back in their rooms. “But we'll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Well, all right, keep your secrets. Do I need to pack anything?”

“No, darling. I've taken care of everything. Dress for a walk in the woods,” Crowley ordered, and kissed between her eyes. “And go to sleep, you've exhausted yourself having fun, exactly as I always wanted for you.”

Aziraphale giggled again, curled up with her head on Crowley's bosom, and fell fast asleep, hair still in the tight plaits she'd put it in that morning. She was soft and easy, and Crowley loved the weight of her. She fit in so nicely against Aziraphale; her girl's soft belly wasn't hurt from Crowley's hip pressing into it, and her breasts were low and heavy. Careful, because she was asleep, Crowley let her hand drift down the front of Aziraphale's nightgown, feeling her up very lightly and just loving her body, her fatness and her belly and her hips that let her cling to a horse and the smooth column of her neck and the little stretch marks on her arms and thighs, the lines in the corner of her eyes that crinkled when she smiled.

Crowley fell asleep eventually herself, after taking a little time to just – be happy. To hold her sleeping wife, and enjoy that particular, lovely, moment in time.

“Bundle up good,” Crowley said, after breakfast was done with the next day. “It's a bit of a walk, and it snowed again last night.”

Aziraphale laughed and went to set the tray outside the door. “Do I get to know how long this will last?”

“A few days,” Crowley said. “At least three. Oh, don't look like that, of course there'll be books. And you'll get your next part of the Eleanor and Yvaine story.” Between one thing and another, they hadn't had time to settle down together for the next part, and of course Aziraphale was dying to learn how Crowley would work in the _extremely_ vital event of their origin story where Yvaine rescues Eleanor from a runaway coach, pulling her out of the path of certain death. In the original story, they dusted themselves off, had a bit of a grumble, and went about their lives.

In Crowley's version of the story, they did not do that. There was a lot more holding each other, for one thing, and worried fussing and and gentle touches to ensure that no one was, say, hiding a broken leg somehow. And a tender exploration of Eleanor's feelings at being protected and cared for, and the stark difference between that and the abuse of her husband, and how that directly led to her growing, tentative trust of Yvaine to say nothing of the soul-healing of simply not being beaten every day. (Aziraphale had cried at that, and also privately found it far, far better than the original story. Her wife was so  _clever_ ! And had an obvious stockings fetish. But mostly, she was so clever!)

Aziraphale was comforted for the moment, but did insist on packing a very small bag with some pretty embroidery to work on, and the mitts she was knitting for Crowley. She dressed warmly as ordered, down to thick woollen stockings and undergarments, and topping off with her warmest cloak, the one of white wool she'd meticulously embroidered and be-ribboned, with the fur-lined hood that always kept her wonderfully warm.

Crowley was dressed similarly; the snow had mostly stopped, and it wasn't bitter out, exactly, but with the sun still well-hidden behind clouds, it would be quite chilly and winter-damp in the forest. She adjusted Aziraphale's scarf to be a little more protective, kissed her, took her hand, and so they left the castle for parts unknown – at least to Aziraphale.

They made their way through the muddy courtyard, but Crowley led them in the opposite direction to where they usually went; no winter-sleeping gardens and wide fields this time. Instead it was out through the front gate with a wave goodbye to Colin, and turn the other way, and follow the curtain wall until it converged with the forest. There was a path – barely, more like a deer track – but footprints in the snow made it easy to follow, and they fell into a nice rhythm walking together, hand-in-hand.

It was easy to be quiet and happy, Aziraphale figured. She was wonderfully warm with all her layers, and even Crowley was dressed properly in her coat and mittens and hat. She was quiet as well, clever eyes moving behind her glasses to pick out the trail. She squeezed Aziraphale's hand from time to time, and Aziraphale squeezed back, and that was all they needed.

The air still smelled like snow, and the sharp scent of pine over it; the forests here were mostly oak and ash and maple, but with some evergreens. Holly bushes and pine trees had provided decoration for the great Christmas feast, of course, and they filled the forest too. It was a grey, dark day, clouds heavy with snow, and Aziraphale breathed deep. It was easy to stay inside half the winter and miss this cold, sharp air, and the specific smell of the winter woods, all leaf-mould and damp and still, somehow, smelling  _green_ . There hadn't been forests on the prairie where she grew up, and she loved having them in her life now. You tended to get blizzards and knifelike winds and desolation that was delicious and scary and sad. You did not get leaf-mould and birds and the grey-green-white of winter.

They walked for a long time, at least an hour Aziraphale reckoned, when it started to snow again, and she laughed out loud at the tickle on her nose as a fat snowflake landed. It broke the silence, and she felt badly for a moment – the sound of only walking and birdsong had been pretty special – but then Crowley turned and smiled at her, and pulled her in, arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right? We can stop and rest.”

“I hope I can hike a bit better than _that_ ,” Aziraphale said, and hugged her to take any sting out. “I feel wonderful, I promise. I know I'm limping, but it doesn't hurt really. I can keep going.”

“Good.” Crowley cuddled her close. “Where we're going – you'll be warm and there's tea and lots of blankets and things. Promise.”

“Where _are_ we going?” Aziraphale asked.

“You'll find out when we get there,” Crowley said smoothly, and kissed her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you frustrating creature,” Aziraphale said, and hugged her tightly. “I love you, and I love Terra, and this forest and this adventure. Thank you.”

“I'm responsible for _maybe_ two of the things on your list, but you're welcome,” Crowley said, laughing. “Are you warm enough, dove? We have a little ways more to go.”

“I'm _fine_ , you silly thing.” Aziraphale pulled her hood up, and took one of her mittens off to press her hand to the back of Crowley's neck – simultaneous proof that she was perfectly warm, and to check that Crowley was warm enough as well. “Come on. I'm not cold or tired, I'm _curious_!”

Crowley laughed and and as soon as Aziraphale's mitten was back on, took her hand and they set out together again. The spell of the quiet forest had been broken, but not in any bad way, not when Aziraphale asked softly about Christmases when Crowley was little. Talking about her childhood was a little hard sometimes, but she smiled and told a funny story about falling asleep under a pew while exploring, and only waking up in the midst of an Advent service, sitting up and loudly asking what was happening in the middle of the priest's homily.

Aziraphale laughed her head off and giggled harder when a bird took off and a tree branch dumped snow on them, and then told stories of her own childhood. Far less grand than Crowley's, of course, but with plenty of funny stories. Like falling into the cow byre on Christmas morning.

“Well,” she said, as Crowley laughed through it. “At least I wasn't wearing my new dress, Mama would have been _furious_. I think she and Papa had been hitting the eggnog a bit early, mind, she just laughed and let him fish me out by the collar, and they stripped me down right there. I was _so_ excited, and ran out into the snow before they could stop me – well, I still had my underthings on!”

Crowley wept with laughter as Aziraphale recounted her parents chasing her through the snow, finally catching her and bringing her inside before she got frostbite.

“I think if they could've, they would have nailed me down to the hearth to dry. Papa threatened to – he even got out his hammer and nails and was ready to tack down my petticoat when I screamed bloody murder.” Aziraphale smiled, and touched her cheek suddenly. “Oh,” she said, for she'd started to cry, too. “He gathered me up in his arms and said he wouldn't do that, only he loved me and needed me to be nice and warm and dry and safe and oh bugger, I'm so sorry.” Tears falling faster, remembering, her _body_ remembering being tiny and safe, cuddled in her father's lap by the fire, her little white feet going rosy with warmth. 

“Shhh.” Crowley folded Aziraphale into her arms, rocking her and stroking her back. “Don't you ever, ever be sorry for missing your parents. They loved you _so much_ , dove. It's all right, shh, cry yourself out. There's no one here but me and a really dumb-looking squirrel.”

Aziraphale laughed and hid her face in Crowley's neck and cried a little because her parents had been killed and she missed them. Remembering wasn't bad, but sometimes the mourning caught her off-guard. And it had been a  _very_ busy few weeks; no quiet, contemplative Christmases for her! “I love them. Present tense intended.”

“Well of course you do,” Crowley said. “I haven't even _met_ them and I love them, just from your stories, and from your you. Poor little dove.” She hugged Aziraphale tightly. “I have you, always.”

A moment of quiet. “Crowley, I know you mean to be comforting. I love you. But never promise me forever. You know you can't, not really.”

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said. “Forgive me. I have you _right now_ , though, and for as long as there's breath in my body.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Forgiven, of course – you didn't mean it the way I took it. I love you. Never think I don't love you, love that you're my family, my wife and my best friend and all that.”

“Never do,” Crowley promised, and held her a little longer until the tears had stopped and Aziraphale had wiped her eyes before they could freeze on her face. “We're close now, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Good. Although I do love walking in the forest in the snow. Shall we do more winter hikes?”

“Of course.” Crowley kissed her cheek, took her hand, and they set off again, little storm of sadness receded now.

They were mostly quiet again, comfortable and easy but for pointing out interesting things – mostly very fat squirrels (“Gosh, that one's got an arse to rival yours! That's a compliment! Ow!”) and pretty birds and interesting snowdrifts and things. They held hands of course, and tromped through the snow, easy here where it had to filter through the tree branches, and was only a few inches deep.

They were still deep in the woods, about two hours since they'd set out, when they came to a little clearing where Wat was lounging against a tree.

“Hallo Princess, Maestra,” he greeted them, bobbing his head in something like the bow that polite society demanded. 

“Wat, dear. Everything set?” Crowley asked. “Also good Lord, where's your hat? Aren't you frozen?”

Wat grinned. “Nah, I'm fine Crowley. Promise. Just got ah, everything set up, so haven't been outside long, and I'll run back home.”

“See that you do,” Aziraphale said. “It's not getting any warmer. And tell Cook from me that you're to have something to warm you up when you get there.”

“Not going to turn that down, Aziraphale,” he said happily, and oh, she liked to hear him say her name. No formality at _this_ court, and nor should there be. Aziraphale had spent plenty of time with her sleeves tied up, getting into the muck with Wat to care for various animals or help out as needed; there was hardly any need for formal titles after _that_.

Also, she hoped somewhere King Gabriel knew that she was married to a princess and they were both chatting casually with the dog-boy who they'd got drunk with more than once, and she hoped that he'd  _choke_ on it.

“Run off home then, you,” Crowley advised. “We'll be back before the New Year.”

“Have a lovely holiday,” Wat called and did, indeed, start to jog through the snow, going back the way they'd come.

“Now I'm _really_ curious,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley laughed, tugging her hand. The path had been trodden as they walked, and it was clear now it was from Wat's feet – at the least. They followed his footsteps through the clearing and plunged back into the forest. It was mostly evergreen here, cold and damp and fragrant and Aziraphale shivered a little, loving the fairytale nature of it all.

They walked just a few minutes before coming upon a tiny, perfect house, with a small yard but otherwise well in the trees. It was small and sturdy, unpainted logs on the outside, weathered with time, and with a well-thatched roof. Smoke was coming from the chimney and it was so impossibly perfect and cosy and pretty that Aziraphale cried out in suprise.

Crowley laughed and hugged around her shoulders. “Shall we go in?”


	3. Chapter 3

“It's ours?” Aziraphale asked, and corrected herself. “Yours?”

“ _Ours_ ,” Crowley said firmly, leading her to the front door and undoing the latch there. “It's ours, my love. Let's get inside and get you warmed up and I'll tell you the whole story.”

“Crowley I'm wearing about seven layers, I'm warm _now_ ,” Aziraphale said, bemused, but who was she to not indulge Crowley in fussing over her?

Inside, the little house was just as small and perfectly-formed. There was a sitting-room taking up half of the space, with a great fireplace, a desk and chair, a huge sofa, and a few other little things here and there, including shelves with some of their favourite books, Aziraphale was pleased to see. To say nothing of the soft rug and stack of pillows on the floor near the fireplace, which held a huge, crackling fire. It was helping to heat the space admirably, really; Aziraphale was perfectly comfortable when all her outer layers were shed.

The other half of the house was split into two levels; on the ground floor was a small kitchen – good, she didn't much fancy cooking over the fire – fitted out with a tiny table and chairs, and various useful things. And above it, up a wide, sturdy ladder, was a little lofted bedroom that was mostly a big bed piled with quilts and such. It was set such that it was quite close to the chimney, pulling heat from the warmed stones, and so that someone lying in bed could easily look out of the small, pretty window to the forest around them.

Everything was decorated, the walls painted clean, bright white, with the furniture and pillows and blankets in deep jewel tones. The bed was expansive, and Aziraphale spotted at least one of the bolsters she often used to ease her bad leg. There were pretty things about too – wall-hangings that Asha and Crowley had made, a little painting of a prairie landscape, and other little treats here and there. It was a snug, weathertight bolthole, already wonderfully warm inside.

Aziraphale walked around, exploring, speechless for a moment. “Crowley,” she finally said. “My God. It's...really ours?”

Crowley laughed and pulled her into a hug, then walked her to the sofa, settling her among the soft cushions and with a blanket within reach. “Really truly. Let me put the kettle on – there's sandwiches for lunch, too. And then I'll explain, it's a bit of a story.”

“You handle the tea, I'll set lunch out,” Aziraphale said firmly, and pulled her into a hug. “I love you. Thank you. This is...incredible.”

“I love you too, angel,” Crowley said softly, and kissed her, and kissed her again, and maybe they took a moment to rest and be together in the silence of the forest, broken just by the crackling fire. 

“Lunch,” Aziraphale said firmly, and got up, pleased to find the small space easy to move around in. The hike had been wonderful, but she was certainly ready to rest a bit.

Crowley made tea and she found the sandwiches and they settled at the little table as the snow picked up outside, fat flakes falling heavily, the sunlight now even dimmer despite the midday hour. Perfect weather to snuggle by the fire and listen to the next part of Crowley's new story, Aziraphale reminded her tartly.

Crowley giggled and made a face at her. “You'll get your tale, miss, don't you worry. Right, I should explain all of this, though.”

“Please? Crowley, what _is_ this?”

Crowley laughed. “It started life as a hunting lodge, actually. Someone a couple generations back – Eadwald, something like that?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, remembering the lineage. “Yes, probably Eadwald II. He had a nice patch of peaceful times, and this split-level is pretty standard for his time. He's your, uh. Great-great-great-grand-uncle, I think.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. So he had this built, and it  _was_ used for quite awhile, but Uncle's not much the intense hunting type as you know.”

Aziraphale had gone out with the king a few times, mostly to take the hawks out, and found him an engaging, skilled hunter who had no desire to go and essentially have a weeklong hunting party. Especially if it meant sleeping in less than luxury, and apart from his wife who could not  _abide_ horses or hawks.

“I don't think many people know it's even still here,” Crowley explained. “Chae does, though, and he mentioned it to me, and brought me out here last year to look it all over.” She grinned. “I know you didn't like being away while my foot was still broken, but it did mean I could escape once I could ride a horse again.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale's jaw dropped. “You've been working on this for the last _eighteen months_?”

Crowley shrugged. “More like sixteen or so, but yes, I suppose?”

Aziraphale covered her mouth with her hand. “You're incredible. Also, yes, I  _did_ hear the bit about you going out on a horse with your poor foot and don't think I won't bring that up the next time it'll benefit me in a fight.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh good grief, I  _barely_ broke anything falling out of that tree and you know it, I was perfectly fine riding. So he brought me out here and I just...fell in love. I can't wait for you to see it in summer especially, it's so beautiful in the long evenings. I asked Uncle about it and he gave it to me – I mean, legally even, I have a deed and everything. We'll add your name to it when we get back home, for it's yours too, love. And since then I've just been fixing it up. Well, paying people who know what they're doing to fix it up,” she amended. “I decorated it, though of course we can change anything you don't like.”

“I love it,” Aziraphale said in a tight voice. “I love every inch of it, and you made it for me, you made it _beautiful_ for me, we are not changing one _thread_.” She had reached across the table to squeeze Crowley's hand, and now raised her hand to her eyes, wiping away a stray tear. “I can't...Crowley, this is so much. No one's ever...I'm sorry, I'm overwhelmed.” She laughed and wiped her eyes again. “A little place that's just for us?”

“Exactly,” Crowley said softly, rising and coming around the table so Aziraphale could wrap her arms around Crowley's legs and hug her tight, head resting on her stomach while Crowley stroked her hair. “Just for you and me, I was thinking. Not even our friends. For starters, where would we put them?” she teased, and Aziraphale giggled. “A safe little place for both of us, where I can love you and we can have fun and rest and be in a beautiful place. We'll have to cook and clean for ourselves, but I think we can manage it.”

Aziraphale giggled. “ _Some_ of us were raised to be housewives, you know. Yes, I can cook and clean and teach you how.”

“I can cook a little,” Crowley protested. “You know I'm an awful princess.”

“You're the best princess I could ever imagine.” Aziraphale hugged her tightly. “Crowley...thank you doesn't cover it. This is bliss. We can stay here for a few days, really?”

“I ordered food enough to last us til New Year's Eve,” Crowley said. “I thought we might want to go back then, celebrate with Chae and Abe and everyone.”

Aziraphale nodded. “And then back to work soon after. That's perfect, love.” She sighed, and turned her head to kiss Crowley's waist. “My God, I love you. But sit, and finish eating, and then we can cuddle by the fire.”

“And you'll get your story,” Crowley teased, kissing the top of her head before going back to her seat.

They were hungry, and polished off their sandwiches while Crowley pointed out interesting little things here and there, relics of past uses and building styles and the like, and talked a little about the work she'd had done – mostly repairs and small things. “Honestly, this place was built to last,” she admitted. “It suffered from neglect a bit, but not as much as you might think.”

Aziraphale smiled, taking in the small space and admiring the little wood-burning stove; one of the few newer comforts Crowley had insisted on, as it helped to heat the place up, not to mention being easier to cook on. “I'll believe it. Not a bit of weather getting in  _here_ .”

Food done with, Crowley topped their tea up while Aziraphale quickly washed the dishes and they settled on the sofa. Crowley gathered her close, the two of them half-reclining in front of the warm, crackly fire, savouring the time that would be wholly theirs. Aziraphale rested her head on Crowley's shoulder and gave a happy, soft sigh.

“Where did we leave off?” Crowley asked softly. “Oh, yes. It was the day after Eleanor had nearly kissed Yvaine, and God hadn't been kind enough to kill her in the night, so off she went to work, hoping both that she would see the other woman, and that she wouldn't...”

Aziraphale snuggled up close, eyes closed, the better to hear Crowley's low, soft voice, telling a story just for her. She was warm and full, and the fire helped light the room against midwinter gloom.

Crowley told of how Yvaine was friendly, and pretended that nothing had happened. How Eleanor was sad over that, but would do anything not to lose her friendship, so also pretended nothing had happened, even as Yvaine brought her fresh flowers every day, and Eleanor gave her extra bread and biscuits, and was pleased to see her thin cheeks filling out, the sturdy shepherdess revealed once she had something proper to eat.

Aziraphale wriggled with joy when Yvaine left Eleanor to watch her stall, just for a few moments. Crowley had been telling her story for nearly an hour now, and that usually meant cliffhanger time – which probably meant  _kisses_ .

“She started back to the heart of the village with her basket empty, all her deliveries made,” Crowley said, cuddling Aziraphale tighter in her lap, smiling when she wiggled again. “It was a beautiful spring day, and she enjoyed the breeze as she walked along the road, such as it was, and farms turned to houses and the dirt road turned back to cobbles. There was a distant hum of activity, but she figured it was just the usual coming and going in the small town. It wasn't until she got closer that she realised it wasn't the usual sounds of the market.”

Aziraphale gave a tiny gasp, at just the right time.

“'Oh, Christ, you're all right,' Edwin said, rushing past her. 'No one could find you.'  
'I was out doing deliveries,' Yvaine told him. 'Why? What happened?'

Edwin shook his head. 'It was awful. Runaway coach, right through the market.'

Yvaine's stomach dropped, and she ran, ran for her stand which would be okay, Eleanor right there, shaken but fine. Bother everything, bother friendship, bother being safe, she was going to seize the woman and never let her go. She yelled for her friend, dodging the crowd as it grew thicker. Someone tried to hold her back, but she was stronger and faster.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley harder, eyes absolutely huge. “No,” she whispered. “You wouldn't...”

Crowley, cruel woman that she was, continued. “She burst into the square just in time to see the splintered remains of her stall – and to see two young men lifting Eleanor onto a stretcher under the auspices of the town doctor. She was very still, and there was blood on her face and her clothes, and Yvaine's heart stopped. Eleanor's arm was twisted horribly, but that was nothing on how silent she was, how still; Yvaine couldn't even see if she was still breathing. And that's the end of part two,” Crowley said cheerfully, while Aziraphale screamed and tackled her.

“You...you _horrible creature_! She's supposed to save Eleanor!” she yelled, rolling them so Crowley was on her back, laughing her ass off while Aziraphale whacked her with a pillow. 

“Yeah, in the books! Not the books, though! Totally different universe,” Crowley bragged, and got a pillow to the face again. “If you kill me, you don't get to find out if Eleanor lives.”

Aziraphale stopped, suddenly bereft. “Crowley, no, no, please, not that. Seriously, love, please...”

Crowley sat up quickly and gathered Aziraphale in her arms. “Oh, sweetheart. No, I'm sorry I teased about that. I promise she'll be fine. The story has the happiest ending imaginable, I  _promise_ . Eleanor's alive and she'll be just fine, given enough time,” she soothed.

Aziraphale blushed. “I'm sorry, I'm being a tit.”

“You aren't. Oh, dove. I'd never do that do you,” Crowley said. “No sad stories for my Aziraphale, all right?”

Aziraphale relented with a smile. “All right. You're still a right bastard, though.”

“Well, yeah. You married me, what's that say about you?” Crowley asked, and cackled harder as Aziraphale hit her with a pillow again. “You'll get part three tomorrow, beloved. Promise.”

“Right after breakfast,” Aziraphale threatened. “Or no sex for you all day. And I'll wear a gown that covers my breasts and bind them so I'm flat-chested.”

“Ooof, you fight dirty.” Crowley smiled and drew Aziraphale down to lie atop her. “What about sex today?”

“Well.” Aziraphale kissed her softly, and kissed her again, already rolling her hips, settling between Crowley's legs. “That's another story, sweetheart...”

Much, much later, Aziraphale lay on her back, catching her breath, while Crowley moaned where she lay, her head pillowed on Aziraphale's hip. With both of them having come now, another round was probably out, but she touched her clit experimentally anyway, and groaned. Just a little too sensitive. One leg dangled off the side of the sofa, her foot flat on the ground, the other slung up over the sofa back, her cunny on display for the whole world (well, Crowley), and she wasn't sure she had the energy or will even to close her legs.

“Tiddy,” Crowley mumbled, and hauled herself up Aziraphale's body, fastened her mouth in an openmouthed kiss over the soft curve of one of her breasts, and passed out. Well, that solved the leg-closing problem; couldn't do _that_ with a sexy woman between her thighs.

Honestly, Crowley had the right idea. Aziraphale managed to snag a blanket and cover them both, just to protect against any chill as the sweat dried on their skin. Crowley was a dear, welcome weight on her, and she tried to stay awake just a little longer to enjoy it all – Crowley passed out, still kissing her breast, the delicious ache in her cunt (to say nothing of the rest of her; they'd got a bit acrobatic about it all), the warm fire and the place that was wholly theirs. She felt well-loved and wanted and needed, and tumbled off to sleep herself, dreaming of whole days of this yet to come.

Crowley made a little mph sound. She was lying on something very, very soft and warm, and something was scratching her cheek. But she didn't want to wake up. Who would want to wake from this heavy, soft time, from the ease of her body well-fucked? She had to concentrate to feel her legs, and wiggle her toes. Well, shit, now she was actually waking up.

“Crowley,” someone sang softly to her. “Wake up, love. Wake up, my love, my sleeping girl.”

“Mneh,” she mumbled, and turned her face, burying it in the breasts she lay on. _Aziraphale's_ breasts. Heaven.

“No, seriously. I have wee like you wouldn't believe.”

Crowley giggled and blinked her eyes and looked up. “Sorry.”

“Shh. Seriously, are you all right for me to let go? We both napped for a good long spell.”

Crowley nodded, feeling soft and quiet, the way she always did after a really good, hard orgasm. She rolled over onto the sofa and let Aziraphale up, admiring her wife's figure as she walked away from the sofa to the necessary. She'd have to get up soon too, but it was all right to snuggle under the soft blanket – just for a moment.

Aziraphale came back and stroked her hair and kissed her, kneeling by the sofa. “Do you want to stay here, love? I should start supper for us, but you deserve a bit of rest.”

Crowley bit her lip. “Are you sure it's okay? It seems mean to land you with chores. It's just...” She sighed, not sure how to put it into words. How she felt small and soft and not sad, but...delicate. Vulnerable. She just wanted to stay still and quiet, and listen to Aziraphale.”

“You _gave me a house_. I think I can throw together dinner.” Aziraphale kissed her tenderly. “You've had to be very good and very princess-y and...not yourself. I think you've earned a bit of a rest. I love you so much, my pretty girl. Promise me you're all right here alone? I can stay too, neither of us will die if supper's a bit late.”

Crowley smiled. “I'm all right alone. Can you...talk to me? Or sing? Just something so I know you're nearby.”

“With great pleasure.” Aziraphale tucked Crowley in a little more comfortably, fussing over her uncovered feet, and then unfortunately dressed herself again, covering that lush, beloved body. “We had a bit of a day, didn't we? Early bedtime for us, I think. Ah, that reminds me – do I have something to sleep in?”

Crowley giggled. “Unfortunately yes. I pilfered some of your clothes – and mine, of course – so we'll have plenty to wear while we're here, love.”

“Wait'll summer comes, and I'll wander around in gauze. Or nothing at all,” Aziraphale warned, and Crowley wriggled with joy.

She listened peacefully as Aziraphale went to work in the kitchen, calling a little narrative of what she was doing – boiling potatoes for mash, and starting to cook some sausages, breaking one open to make a gravy from. She wasn't much of a one for singing, shy about her voice, but she did hum a little tune, something Caelish that Crowley half-recognised. It was all wonderfully homey and cozy, and she snuggled under the blanket while good smells filled the air – not least because Aziraphale opened a bottle of wine and brought her a glass, sitting on the edge of the sofa and gently petting Crowley's hair.

“Baby, are you all right?” she asked softly. “Truly.”

Crowley stretched and sat up, taking the glass of wine in one hand and getting her other arm around Aziraphale. “I am, I promise. You know me.” She smiled and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “Guess what?”

“Hmmm?”

“No one called me by my old name this whole holiday season.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale laughed and hugged her. “My Princess, my gorgeous girl. It should have always been like that, but I'll take it.”

Crowley giggled and hugged back, and kissed her cheek. “I feel like I can exhale now. Maybe this is just me exhaling.”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale fussed adorably, helping her sit up, the blanket still tucked around her legs, now curled under her, Crowley bared from the waist up but warm enough for the moment. Aziraphale feeling her tits up didn't hurt, mind, nor the way Crowley could snuggle up to her in her soft wool dress. “We can have a really good lie-in tomorrow – I can get coffee up to the loft, and we'll snuggle and wake up.” She grinned. “And you can tell me the next part of the story.”

Crowley laughed and promised. “Eleanor really will be all right, I promise you, love. And she'll have Yvaine to nurse her.”

“I know.” Aziraphale smiled, going back to petting Crowley's hair, fussing her gently while they sipped their wine – for she'd brought a glass for herself too, of course. “I'm just excited for them to kiss. Her face is all right?”

“Certainly enough to kiss,” Crowley promised, and demonstrated herself before settling down. She needed to wipe herself off before she dressed. Ew. 

She did though – eventually – when she started to get a bit chilly and Aziraphale was teasing her about her nipples like diamonds. And, properly in clothes, they ate supper together, and finished the bottle of wine snuggling by the fire, talking of this and that – travels for the next year, how their distant friends were doing (Aziraphale predicted she'd return home to  _quite_ the stack of end-of-year letters), how their castle friends were, for that matter. All interspersed with little caresses and cuddles and kisses, both of them a bit sexed-out but more than happy to have quiet, intimate time just for them.

They dressed for bed together, shivering in the loft and crawling under the piles of blankets and heavy duvets to snuggle together on the soft bed, giggling as they had a small fight over who got to be little spoon, with Aziraphale winning and immediately falling fast asleep curled up in Crowley's arms.

The next morning, Aziraphale always, thought, was idyllic. Which was a lot to say when one crawled out of bed in a still-dark world and, shivering, pulled on heavy socks and a dressing gown to go build up two fires and start to boil water. Crowley, blessed woman that she was, had a stash of sweet buns that would serve them nicely for breakfast. All that  _and_ she managed to fill a tray and get it up to the little loft before crawling back under the warm blankets for a little wake-up snuggle.

That was the idyllic part. The sun was starting to rise – as much as it ever did in such days – and Crowley was at her sweetest and softest. No kisses to her mouth or cheeks, not until she'd taken care of her facial hair, but it was okay to kiss her hair and smile as she nuzzled at Aziraphale's shoulder, snuggling close, seeking warmth and love and affection – all of which Aziraphale had in absolute excess, of course. She petted her wife and cuddled her, eased her awake with quiet and so much love. They'd got a whole season with no one misgendering her, or calling her by her first name. It wouldn't always be like this, but perhaps it was a harbinger of change, of lots of Christmases someday that would be absent that little bit of soul-killing cruelty.

Ah, but that was for fretting about another time. Right now they were in their own little house, where no one would bother them and they could do as they liked. And right now Aziraphale liked to drink her coffee and watch Crowley wake up, while weak winter sunlight began to peek through the windows, the snow done for a bit. Perhaps they'd go out and play a bit in it, go for a winter hike again.

Or perhaps not, she thought with a smile, stretching her sore legs. Yesterday had been plenty of activity, between the long hike and, frankly, the rather intense sex. Maybe today she'd just peg Crowley slowly. Or make her sit on the strap-on, splayed open on Aziraphale's lap while Aziraphale read and made her beg for more.

“Or maybe I'll eat your cunt out until you sob,” Crowley mumbled, when this plan was suggested to her. “Tie you up in front of the fire with hairpins on your nipples.”

Aziraphale laughed, knowing full well neither of them had the will to do anything so drawn-out. Not today, anyway.

Today, it was clear, was for Crowley hauling herself out of bed to sort out her face and the other necessary calls when waking up, then to haul herself right back in for cuddles and coffee and buns, and long kisses. And –

“ _Yes_ you can have the next chapter,” she teased when she was awake and they were not quite restless, but certainly a little more wriggly. Aziraphale was lying on her belly while Crowley rubbed her back. Not that she needed it – but it did feel nice. Nicer, maybe, because she _didn't_ need it, she thought. 

She smiled sweetly up at Crowley and hugged the pillow she was lying on as her brilliant wife picked up the thread of the story.

“There wasn't anything Yvaine could do. She had to watch them take Eleanor away, with no clue as to how badly she was hurt, or if she'd...but no. No use thinking about that. Better to help clear away what was left of her stand. She had a little bit of savings, and was a hard worker. She'd take on a job as a maid, or work in the fields, and save and save, and maybe get another stand someday. Maybe, someday, when all this was over, Eleanor would forgive her and they'd be friends again. Yvaine would sell flowers and Eleanor would come out with a little treat for her, and get a pretty bloom in return. Maybe someday that would happen again.

In the meantime, there was work to do, so Yvaine did it, giving away any flowers that had survived the carnage, loading up a wagon with the splintered wood, most of it no good for anything but firewood. And then – oh  _no_ . Eleanor's shop!

She ran in, but all was well; there had hardly been patrons while the great mess was being cleared. Others had lost some of their stands, or part of their livelihoods, but no one else had been hurt and no one else would have to rebuild entirely.

Yvaine set the shop to rights, knowing exactly what to do. Someone would run it until Eleanor was well again; she had a girl come in a few days a week to help out with busy times, she could probably take over. Her business, her pride and her security, would still be here, Yvaine would make sure of it.”

Aziraphale was practically vibrating at this point, when Crowley showed mercy. Someone came to fetch Yvaine, saying Eleanor was asking for her, and she went with them to Eleanor's home, a tiny cottage no more than two rooms, but cozy and clean and well-kept. There was the slow approach to the house...and Yvaine having to go to the bedroom...and there was Eleanor, swathed in bandages, having fallen asleep while Yvaine was being fetched. A kindly doctor was there, though, to explain to her what had happened.

“'Her arms and legs were all broken to bits,” Crowley narrated with some gusto, while Aziraphale gasped with appropriate shock and horror. “'And she received several deep cuts from splinters of wood. She's completely helpless and will be for some weeks, perhaps months. She asked if you would nurse her, help her eat and dress and bathe. She will need a good, kind friend to see her through, and tend to her every need at all times.'”

Aziraphale made a very small squeeing sound into the pillow, and Crowley hid a giggle. Of course, Yvaine accepted, just as Eleanor began to stir, and there was a deeply touching scene where she took Eleanor's bandaged hand in hers and teased her a little and made her smile and touched her hair, and the fact that Crowley mirrored all of these actions with Aziraphale as she smiled, snuggled under the quilts – well, it certainly didn't detract from the story any.

Aziraphale listened as Crowley narrated Yvaine's tender care, the way she fed Eleanor and combed out her hair and helped her get as comfortable as possible, poor broken arms and legs cushioned on soft pillows. It was such an echo of the care she got from Crowley, those times she was poorly, and she cried along with Eleanor a little bit as she confessed that no one had ever been as tender and gentle with her.

Of course, the chapter ended with Yvaine tucking Eleanor in for the night, freshly-bathed and sweet, the terrible pain held at bay, and perhaps Crowley mirrored that, too, easing Aziraphale into bed and tucking her in and then, oh,  _then_ . Yvaine leaning over and kissing Eleanor's brow.

“'I like that,' Eleanor murmured,” Crowley narrated. “'But only...oh, you'll hate me.'

'I couldn't,' Yvaine said softly. 'Never ever. What is it, darling?' She smiled. 'Or...I can guess.'

And she leaned over and brushed her lips over Eleanor's, soft so as not to hurt, but enough to feel. To call it a real kiss,” Crowley murmured as she bent over and kissed Aziraphale, whose eyes were closed, lost in the beautiful story.

“Ohhhh,” she sighed, and opened her eyes, and drew Crowley down for a real kiss. “Oh, I love you.”

Crowley laughed and lay down beside her, gathering Aziraphale into her arms with a kiss. “I love you too, dearest. Did you like your chapter?”

Aziraphale gave a little wriggle. “Of course I did. Poor Eleanor – will she really be all right?”

“I wanted to ask you about that,” Crowley said, gathering Aziraphale into her arms. “She's pretty poorly, dove. I was thinking...what if she mostly healed, but she had a limp? Like yours?”

Aziraphale burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakespeare put plays within plays to mirror the characters and throw the themes of his stories into relief. I put a story within a story so Crowley can write lurid h/c fanfic and have excuses to make out with her wife. WE'RE PRACTICALLY WRITER TWINSIES.
> 
> (Okay but things do get kinda meta especially next chapter, hope y'all don't mind!)


	4. Chapter 4

“Or not! Oh my God! Angel, no, don't cry, don't cry love, please,” Crowley begged, while Aziraphale shook her head.

“Tears of _joy_ you idiot,” she said, and sniffled. “Crowley...do you know how often I get to read or hear stories about people like me?”

“Um?” Crowley offered, bewildered.

“ _Basically never_ ,” Aziraphale said, wiping her eyes. “Oh my God, love, Eleanor's like _me!_ ”

Crowley laughed and cuddled her close. “Mmmhmm. She's a bit silly, and very beautiful and brave. And very, very loved. And she has trouble walking.” She stroked Azirpahale's back. “She'll need a lot of help at first. Then less help. She'll do most of what she wants, just sometimes slower. Sometimes not at all, but people who love her will understand.”

Aziraphale was crying again, but Crowley was fairly sure she hadn't just deeply offended her, so it was a little less frantic-feeling, and she kissed the tears away before they could stain her cheeks. “Really, angel, do you want that? This is important.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed her. “I do. I really, really do. I love you so much.”

Crowley laughed and gave her a little squeeze. “I love you too. And if you ever change your mind, promise you'll tell me?”

“I promise.” Aziraphale snuggled in Crowley's arms, head on her shoulder. “I love your imagination. You're so brilliant.”

“Aw, shut up, I'm all right,” Crowley said. “I just like thinking about pretty ladies. Now then, silly girl, we should get out of bed.”

“ _Why_?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley did have to admit she didn't have a compelling argument. They were very cosy in the big bed, and it was so nice to be able to look outside while knowing that they didn't have to do a thing that day.

“I dunno,” she admitted, and pulled up one the quilts to better cover Aziraphale's shoulder. Wouldn't do to get chilly. “You have a point.”

“We both worked hard,” Aziraphale said, caressing Crowley's hip, her fingertips lazy. Too lazy even for sex, but happy to feel her lady up. “Be easy, love. We can rest.”

Crowley went soft, rolled over and gathered Aziraphale close. They could easily kill an hour or three just kissing, and she aimed to do exactly that.

They technically got out of bed that day, to feed the fire and make food, but neither of them cared to dress properly, and they were just as likely to lie together on the sofa and kiss. At one point in the afternoon Crowley worked at her knitting while Aziraphale read and they enjoyed the comfortable silence together, not touching but within arms-reach of one another, but after supper it was straight back to bed, sliding under the covers. They didn't have sex, exactly – just touched, and kissed, and whispered their hearts to one another, a day of perfect rest and love, and Aziraphale drifting off with her head pillowed on Crowley's chest, held tenderly, their legs tangled together.

Crowley had become a pretty decent storyteller, she thought. It was one of the good things to come out of not being able to read. She had a good memory, and learned quickly. She couldn't write the stories in her head down, so she'd learned how to tell them, to change voice and use her hands and sometimes her body to act it out. She remembered most of the stories that had ever been told to her, and in her mind they transmuted and changed and became a story  _she_ could tell. And for the stories she made up all on her own, well – it was easy to act those out too.

Especially now.

“'It doesn't hurt so badly now,' Eleanor said bravely. 'I think I'm truly healing at last.'

Yvaine smiled and kissed her proudly. 'My sweet girl, of course you are. I know it's a long road ahead, you were so badly hurt, but you'll be all better someday.'

'What if I'm not?' Eleanor asked softly. 'They think my leg might be too badly broken.'

'Then we'll handle it,' Yvaine said, steady and certain. 'As long as you're still here, we can handle anything.' She smiled and adjusted a few pillows, easing Eleanor's arms in their long splints and bandages. 'Poor love. Is there anything else that needs help?'”

Crowley had been kissing Aziraphale as she told the story, easing her into place on the bed, the better to play the part of Eleanor. She went sweetly, letting Crowley touch her, arrange her limbs, not catching that her legs were really rather open as Crowley eased them onto pillows, narrating how Eleanor helped Yvaine get comfortable.

(And – oh, goodness. That actually  _did_ help her hip, the angle and the elevation stretching something and leaving her feeling soft and happy. She'd have to remember that.)

“'Well,' Eleanor said. 'I do ache...'

'Where, my love?' Yvaine asked, ready to help with anything. 'Do you need me to rub your foot again?'

'No, not there,' Eleanor said. 'It's...between my legs.'”

Aziraphale gasped as Crowley slid her hand up her nightdress and caressed her vulva, petting the wiry hair on her mons and stroking her fingertip down the soft skin of her labia. “Oh, those lucky girls, first time...”

Crowley smiled, and narrated Yvaine's actions, the gentle way she lifted Eleanor's shift, exposing her, kissing her belly and reaching up, pushing the shift above her breasts and kissing them as she settled between the poor shattered legs, and kissed her way back down Eleanor's body to finally land with her mouth over the soft wetness of her sex.

Actual narration paused while Crowley settled between Aziraphale's legs, her tongue parting the soft folds of her labia, seeking out familiar tastes. There was a little iron tang to it – ah, her courses would come on soon, perhaps even that day, and Crowley lapped at her hole, loving the taste of her. Her hands were on Aziraphale's thighs, gently holding them still, making her feel Eleanor's enforced passivity, the incredible trust she had to have in her caretaker, her lover. Crowley worked her tongue slowly, thumbs rubbing the crease of Aziraphale's hips as she buried her face in her lover's sex, working her way up to stroke Aziraphale's clit, fat and proud and a little bigger than any other of her lovers'. Her tongue fit around it beautifully, and she stroked and flicked and suckled a little, hands pushing up to play with her tits, the way they spread over her body as she lay still, moaning and wailing and, eventually, shaking and coming with a cry.

Crowley kissed her way up Aziraphale's belly, and her breasts, and her throat and her lips, sharing the taste of her as she settled down, letting her move and curl her arms around Crowley while she finished her chapter.

“Eleanor smiled sleepily, and moved her arm so her fingertips could just brush Yvaine's thigh. 'Someday I'll be able to do that for you,' she said, voice blurry from pleasure.

Yvaine just smiled and kissed her. 'Someday,' she agreed. 'But now you must be my good girl, and be still. And perhaps we can do that again before bed, to help you sleep.'

Eleanor brightened at that. 'Oh, do you promise? And do you promise to be naked, too? I want to see your beautiful body.'

Yvaine laughed, and promised. 'I'll strip you down too.'

Eleanor looked down at herself. Her arms and legs were covered in heavy bandages – she could wiggle her toes, and a few of her fingers, but otherwise they were forced to stillness while the terrible injuries from the runaway carriage healed. Well, healed as much as they could. 'Why on earth do you want to look at me?' she asked softly. 'I'm like a broken doll.'

'You are  _not_ ,' Yvaine said fiercely. 'You're brave, and beautiful, and strong. You could have  _died_ , my love, but you didn't. You're fighting to get better, and I know it's so, so hard. But your arms and legs will heal. Maybe not all the way, but you're still fighting for it. And you're so beautiful, love. Your strength and how kind you are and how sweet and funny. Of course I want to look at you, gorgeous woman that you are.' She thought about pointing out that Eleanor's breasts were un-bandaged – at least now that her ribs had healed enough – but thought that might be better left for pillow-talk that night.”

Aziraphale giggled and palmed her own breast, gathering it so it was an overfilled handful, playing a little with the soft skin and her nipple, hard in the cool air. Inevitably, Crowley sealed her mouth over said nipple, nibble and suckling until Aziraphale moaned a little, and she pulled off to press a wet kiss to Aziraphale's throat.

“Did you like your chapter?”

“Did I _ever_.” Aziraphale stretched sweetly, and kissed Crowley. “Did you like your second breakfast?”

“You have no idea,” she said happily, and laughed when Aziraphale palmed her cock. “Mmmm. Hold off on that, sweet? I want to make love properly later, and you know what I'm like, useless as can be after I come.”

“I know, it's adorable,” Aziraphale told her. She traced a fingertip around the head of her wife's cock, but then caressed her hip, just kissing until her cock softened again. “ _Please_ can I kiss it? Please, please? It's so sweet like this.”

Crowley laughed out loud. “Most women like it better when it's hard,” she said.

“Since when was I most women?” Aziraphale challenged, and Crowley had to give her that.

“A little kissing,” she said. “And then I love you, but if I don't get out of this house and get some fresh air, I will scream.”

Aziraphale laughed and rucked up Crowley's nightdress to her waist, smiling at the sight of her nascent cock. She cupped her hands around Crowley's sex, cooing softly at the limp cock and balls in a way that Crowley never ceased to find  _hilarious_ . 

“You're such a lesbian. Of course you like my cock soft.”

“I like it hard too,” Aziraphale countered, pressing a little kiss to the soft, vulnerable skin. “It means you feel good and also I should prepare to need a flannel.” She giggled softly, and released it, kissing Crowley's belly. “I'm sorry, sometimes, that you can't fuck me – I mean, penetrate me.”

“Really? Why?” Crowley asked, surprised. “No, wait, come here, this is important,” she said, catching hold of Aziraphale's arm and pulling her back onto the bed, into her arms. “I never knew that.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It's not a big deal. But yes. I wish...oh, it just feels so intimate, you know? To have you in me. I mean, it's amazing when I put your cock in my mouth. But so much as a finger really hurts.”

Crowley's jaw dropped. “Are you serious? Angel, how did I not know this?”

“Because you're a respectful, kind, wonderful lover who got told I don't like penetration, so never even tried it,” Aziraphale said. “Here, feel--”

“No! I'll hurt you!” Crowley protested.

“Shh, I'm all relaxed,” Aziraphale comforted. “Give me your finger.” She guided it between her legs and to her hole, gently pushing Crowley's fingertip in until she gasped, and Crowley pulled her hand back. “See? Too tight.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley was amazed at what she had felt. She couldn't have penetrated Aziraphale if she wanted to. “I'm sorry if this is a cruel question, but are you all right? Is that something to...to be concerned about?”

Aziraphale kissed her softly. “It's a trauma response. A Maester Physician told me that once. It happens sometimes. Sometimes women get past it. I...haven't. I think I won't. I'm sorry.”

“Oh my _God_ , what are you apologising for?” Crowley said, and kissed her, and kissed her again. “My brave, beautiful dove. Don't you ever, ever, ever be sorry. Your body has carried you through so much, I love it _so much_. I love how we make love. I've never missed a thing, angel, I promise you. I love you, I love you, don't ever be sorry to me.”

Aziraphale giggled softly and cuddled her. “All right. I'm sorry for me, though – just a little.”

“I can't argue with that.” Crowley kissed her, and stroked her back and her hair. “I can love you even more, though.”

Aziraphale smiled, snuggled in Crowley's arms. “I don't know how. I didn't know someone could love this much, 'til I married you.”

“I believe in me,” Crowley said confidently, and they giggled, and cuddled a little longer until nature called – to say nothing of the snowy woods, promising adventure and snowball fights and games of hide-and-seek in the trees.

So they passed the next few days, in a bliss of playing outside, going on long walks and returning to hot cocoa and warm fires, making love wherever they found a comfortable spot. They knitted and read and told stories and passed the short days and longs nights in the perfect pleasure of being alone together in the sweet little house that was only theirs. They made plans to return, too – perhaps in February, to catch the last of winter, and then of course in spring and summer. Aziraphale had yet to see the forest here in all its seasons, while Crowley was already quite sure where they'd make love as soon as it was warm enough and the ground was dry.

It snowed heavily on the day they were to go back to the castle, thick wet flakes that were beautiful at first, and then a slog as they were soaked and chilled long before they could make it to the warmth of the castle. Crowley wasn't even surprised when Aziraphale welcomed the New Year with an awful head-cold that left her feverish and coughing, and out of bed only for a small party before being chivvied back into the warmth and softness by the combined energies of Crowley, Chae, Min, and about half the royal family.

Which was why early January found Crowley making her way out to Colin's little guardhouse to pick up their mail, cheerful in the bright sunlight. Aziraphale was still poorly and mustn't get chilled, but she was cheerful and better, if still a little, well...phlegm-y. But she hadn't had a fever in days, and she was beginning to work her fine embroidery again while Crowley told stories, and she was perfectly happy puttering around Crowley's apartments. 

(They had agreed, with support from the castle physician, that she could go back to the chilly Library when her cold was all cleared up and not one moment before.)

“Hullo my dear,” Colin said as Crowley came in. “The missus still feeling poorly?”

“A bit,” Crowley said, putting the kettle on, for of course they always shared a cup of tea. “She sends her love, but I reckon you'll be seeing her within the week, she's that much better.”

“Wonderful,” Colin said, setting some papers aside. “And you, Princess?”

“Me? I'm healthy as a horse,” Crowley said. “Always am, you know that.” She grinned at him and prepared the teapot, then settled while the water boiled. “Any letters for her Librarianship?”

Colin snickered. “Of course,” he said, rummaging around box, and pulling out a thick stack, tied together with string. “Although half of those are addressed to you as well.”

Crowley blushed, and glanced at a few of them – well, she was  _literate_ , it was just her stupid eyes didn't work right, and wasn't that a bear, when she couldn't read to her love? But yes, there, that was in Asha's handwriting, and Elsie's, and oh, Chita had written to her as well, what a sweetheart! She stashed the letters away in her bag for later; Aziraphale would probably be up to reading one or two that day, even, if she woke from her nap feeling well.

She and Colin chatted over tea, comparing stories from Christmas and shamelessly gossiping over which of Crowley's extended relations had shamed themselves and who had been found in whose bed – Min had helped with  _those_ little tidbits, bless her – and generally keeping their fingers on the pulse of the castle's people.

Crowley took her leave with another kiss and taking the long way back to her rooms, breathing in the fresh, cold air and enjoying the bit of pale sunlight. She didn't linger too long, though – Aziraphale would be awake soon, if she wasn't already.

She was, in fact, sitting up in bed with a thick shawl around her shoulders, reading from a well-loved book, but looking up as soon as Crowley entered. “Darling! Good, you got outside.”

Crowley laughed and came over to sit on the other side of the bed, sprawling a little and pulling Aziraphale in for a sweet kiss. “Uh huh, went to go bother Colin, and pick up your mail. How d'you feel?”

“Like I deserve the last chapter,” Aziraphale said. Crowley's little story was nearly at an end; Eleanor's splints and bandages had been removed in the last chapter, and she and Yvaine made enthusiastic, if gentle, love. She was still hobbling about on crutches, but she was able to work again, a little, and with the money saved by living together Yvaine had been able to buy a new flower stand. It was such a lovely end to a story, and Aziraphale adored how Crowley had taken the characters and elements and made something new and special out of them.

Crowley laughed and settled down with Aziraphale in her arms. “Well, can't say no to that. Right, where were we?

Yvaine was closing up for the day,” Crowley narrated, “pleased she had sold all her stock. Well, nearly all, but that was only because she'd held the most beautiful bouquet back. Eleanor would enjoy a little colour in their shared home, and Yvaine wanted to give her something pretty. They had painted her crutch a lovely deep blue, and Yvaine added little red flowers here and there to try to make it nicer for her; she did so like pretty things. And deserved them; she still flinched too often, or worried that something she had done, a perfectly innocent mistake, would throw Yvaine into a rage. It broke Yvaine's heart, every time, and she redoubled her efforts to show Eleanor how she deserved to be treated, with kindness and love and gentleness.

She let herself in, smiling already. Her lady was stood at the mantel, dusting the pretties there, and when Yvaine closed the door, turned around and grinned. 

'Sweetheart!' Eleanor crossed the room to greet her, and you'd have thought Yvaine was away for a week, instead of a few hours.

Eleanor limped heavily, her body adapting to account for her damaged leg. It would never heal, not exactly. She might someday not need the crutch, but it was just as likely that she'd need it for the rest of her life. Yvaine hardly minded – it was so good to see her love up and independent, moving around happily with a little help. And still her love – if anything, they were closer than ever, made love more than ever, and were the best of friends.

'Hullo, you,' she said, and pulled Eleanor in for a hug and a kiss, and presented her with the bouquet. 'Thought this was almost as pretty as you.'

'You are  _terrible_ ,' Eleanor informed her, but kissed her just the same and went off to find a jug and some water for the pretty flowers.

Yvaine settled on their tiny sofa, putting her feet up with a sigh, a welcome rest at the end of a long day. She thought no one in the whole world had ever been as happy as her, in her little cottage with her beloved. Eleanor would come back in and snuggle on her lap, and they'd kiss and touch each other, revelling in the absence of bandages and her healed arms and legs. Even if that was what had initially brought them together, there was so much more now, and Yvaine thought she'd have the best life ever, finding out new things to love about Eleanor every day, and being thoroughly loved and petted and cared-for in turn. The end,” Crowley finished.

Aziraphale blinked hard and hid a sniffle. “That was awfully short,” she said, and Crowley laughed.

“There's an epilogue where they make love,” she promised. “For a long, long time. Got to find new positions to make Eleanor happy, you know. I thought I'd leave that for when you're feeling a bit better, though.”

Aziraphale giggled, and wiped her eyes. “I loved it, of course. Thank you. Crowley, will you tell me more stories where Eleanor is like me? Or Yvaine? Or anyone, really.”

Crowley smiled and touched her cheek. “Of course, angel. Every story is improved by a pretty girl with a limp,” she said confidently. “I know mine has.”

“Oh my Lord, you're disgusting.” Aziraphale snuggled closer. “I like her crutch, by the way. When I need one, we should paint it all pretty like that.”

“Fair play, next time you sprain your ankle – you're about due, by the way – we'll make sure to get you your own crutches and paint them up pretty,” Crowley promised, undeterred by Aziraphale's angry yelp and shove.

“You are _awful_ ,” she huffed. 

“I know,” Crowley said gleefully, and stroked her girl's hair. “I love you. When you need crutches or a stick or anything, when your leg gets worse, I'll get you a whole bunch, as pretty as can be. I promise you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know. It's not time yet, love. But when the time comes, I know you'll help.”

“Always.” Crowley kissed the top of her head, and cuddled her a little more tenderly. Poor, sickie girl. But oh well – she'd be better soon. And Crowley could plan a really good sex scene as a coda. They still had long winter nights to fill, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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